


softly, sweetly. indelibly

by hwatothestars



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, Come Eating, Frottage, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, fitting room sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25891870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwatothestars/pseuds/hwatothestars
Summary: “Yes,” Seonghwa kisses him, “I like you,” he murmurs warmly, bringing a blush to Hongjoong’s cheeks. He sinks to his knees, hands dragging over Hongjoong’s body as he goes. He grasps a thigh in each hand and looks up at Hongjoong as he says, “I like you like this,”“Smartass,” Hongjoong huffs once again at having his words boomeranged but the confession makes him tremble a little. At the end of the day there really is no steeling himself for Park Seonghwa. At the end of the day Hongjoong bruises under his tenderness, dents under the weight of his grace, and Hongjoong wouldn’t change a thing.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 12
Kudos: 208





	softly, sweetly. indelibly

**Author's Note:**

> *not beta'd, please forgive any errors.

Hongjoong crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue. He hears a giggle, signaling his triumph. For his turn, the child crosses his eyes, sticks out his tongue and pulls on his hair. Hongjoong bursts into quiet chuckles and gives him an air-five. 

Then once again he crosses his eyes, sticks out his tongue, pulls on two strands of his hair, and hops on the spot from one foot to another like a clown. 

The boy giggles his loudest yet and it reaffirms that it’s worth making a fool of himself in public like this. 

“Hongjoong?” Seonghwa’s neck is craned around the curtain of the changing room, perplexed at Hongjoong’s bizarre display. 

Hongjoong straightens out instantly, cheeks warming. “Yes?” 

“What are— nevermind, can you come in here and give me a hand?” 

“Sure,” 

Grateful that Seonghwa doesn’t pursue an explanation, he waves goodbye to the child. The man that had brought the boy to the cubicle a few feet down from Seonghwa’s where Hongjoong is waiting and instructed him to wait outside, presumably his father, exits just then and the boy doesn’t stop waving at Hongjoong with a sad pout until they have rounded a corner and he’s out of view. 

Hongjoong had been on his phone, bored, waiting for Seonghwa to finish up with his outfits when the child had _psst_ for his attention and initiated a game of mime with him. At first he’d only been a mere spectator, chuckling and widening his eyes appropriately but then the child had urged him with all the gravitas a kindergartener? could muster in the fair, time hardy system of _I’ve had my turn, now you._ When Hongjoong had succumbed, it escalated to competing in ridiculousness to get the other to laugh and Hongjoong thinks it’s safe to say he was winning. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to break the chain, can you help me untangle?” 

Seonghwa holds up his shirt to reveal one of the various belt chains he’d entered with to try on. Its three strands on the left hip are tangled horribly with the single chain it evens out into on the right side and it’s almost impressive how Seonghwa managed to get it this abysmal. 

“Nice work, Mr. Seonghwa,” he compliments, reaching for the mess of a knot, Seonghwa backing up against the wall mirror to stabilize himself. 

“Thanks, Mr. Circus,” Seonghwa returns with sincerity— too much sincerity even for him and Hongjoong groans. 

“You were taking too long.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” 

“You just said ‘thanks Mr circus’,” 

Seonghwa cocks his head, lips pursed in curiosity, “Is that a bad thing?” 

“Smartass,” Hongjoong mutters, tugging lightly on the chain in warning. 

Seonghwa hums and cards a gentle hand through Hongjoong’s hair. “Is that supposed to be an insult?” 

The touch is so gentle, sends such a shiver through Hongjoong that he momentarily forgets what the topic of discussion is and leans up into Seonghwa’s touch, lips curving at the tips as he stares into Seonghwa’s equally soft, sparkling eyes. 

Then, recovering, he scowls, “You are so much talk when I’m this close to your- well. . . Is that wise?” 

Seonghwa smiles, bashfulness in the laugh lines that bunch his cheeks. But to Hongjoong’s surprise, he doesn’t back down. “What are you going to do?” The hand in Hongjoong’s hair travels until he is cupping the side of Hongjoong’s face, covering his ear, fingers rooted in cobalt locks, scratching lightly and dissolving Hongjoong’s spine into heated candle wax. “What’s the worst you could do?” 

“Would you like to find out?”

“I wouldn’t hate it,”

“Would you now,” Hongjoong glances up, gauging Seonghwa’s seriousness, how far he wants this to go. 

It’s new, this thing between them. They’d been toeing the line for so long. When they stumbled across it they went hurtling, twisting and tangling the entire nine yards, edges smoothed by the chaffing, angles rounded in the abrasion until what was old and familiar between them had become shiny, smooth and new. 

Hongjoong half wants to slow down, for his sanity if nothing else. It’s not such a bad thing, though. He’s not in any hurry to say it aloud but to lose himself to Seonghwa, to the insatiability he roots in him like he were born with it, the low-grade fever that feels like it will never completely break around him, well, Hongjoong hasn’t felt so alive in any point in memory, so is it so bad? 

Hongjoong advances and continued concessions undoubtedly mark his conclusion.

“Or maybe I would.” Seonghwa shrugs, nonchalant, “Who knows?”

“How mysterious.” Hongjoong is a little impressed with how long Seonghwa’s aloofness is lasting. One suggestive look from Hongjoong and he should be avoiding eye contact. 

He was the first to fall and the first to give voice to the emotions that have taken residence in the comfortable silences between them and the little acts of service that go unnoticed by everyone save for the other. And when it comes to the fire between them, he is also the first to squirm under its flames, the first to blush, the first to hide his face between his palms or in Hongjoong’s shoulder. 

As for Hongjoong, he has been sure of himself for as long as he could remember. He needed to be when his dreams were a jewel trapped by industry walls that snapped like piranha maws, thirsty for an ounce of blood or a pound of dreams to munch on and metabolize into selfish gain.

Whenever he faltered there was a reserve of inner strength to tap into, drive fueled by desperation, by the fact that failure wasn’t an option and like regenerating tissue the tear in his determination would repair itself. 

But around Seonghwa, he feels like a different person. It’s not that he has to tread eggshells with him. It’s that around him Hongjoong feels like _he_ is the one constructed of eggshells. A touch too tender and he’ll shatter. A look too keen and he will be ground to dust. With all of Seonghwa’s intuitive care, it’s a challenge not to have Hongjoong’s reactive instinct be to boil into something hardened, less penetrable, less fragile. 

Once he let go of those instincts— or rather, once Seonghwa had permeated him so thoroughly it was hard to remember what he was trying to return to, a time before Seonghwa’s morning smiles or Seonghwa using extra lavender dryer sheets in his linen because he learnt it was his favourite scent or Seonghwa’s goodnight, good morning, _please don’t forget to eat today_ texts whether they were sleeping in the same room or Hongjoong was locked away in a studio in a different part of town— he learnt very quickly to steel himself, not against but _for_ Seonghwa. For both their sakes. 

Because Seonghwa does want this, he wants Hongjoong, just like Hongjoong wants him. And truthfully it’s not much of a hardship to take the reins when one is rewarded with what Hongjoong’s awarded; a pliant, needy and much more forthcoming Seonghwa, a Seonghwa whose dams prostrate to Hongjoong’s ministrations. 

If Seonghwa needed him to have the gall for both of them, then he would. He would, he would. He would _anything_ for Seonghwa. This, too, he’s not in a rush to commit to air—though he suspects—fears, hopes— Seonghwa already knows.

Straightening and stepping forward until he is crowding Seonghwa in further, Hongjoong raises his head to Seonghwa’s as he continues to untangle, faces so close each exhale tickles the other’s lips. He runs his knuckles lower, briefly and lightly enough to be accidental. “How is it, Mr. Seonghwa, are you hating it?” 

Seonghwa manages to make himself appear so casual it’s borderline boredom, “I can’t answer that as I’m not feeling anything.”

Hongjoong grows more amused each second Seonghwa maintains this act. There is only one way this will end short of them needing to evacuate the building. Seonghwa will be his putty, Hongjoong is sure of it. He subdues the anticipation in lieu of patience. “Really?” 

“Uh huh,” Seonghwa picks imaginary particles off Hongjoong’s shoulder, hip cocking as he shifts his weight to one foot. 

“I see,” Hongjoong says, mimicking Seonghwa’s nonchalance. He goes back to working on the knot, ignoring that Seonghwa lied, ignoring the bulge that has formed at his groin, from Hongjoong’s touch or proximity or the promise that infuses the air, Hongjoong isn’t sure yet but he lets it brew. 

And if his knuckles increase in pressure or his fingers catch on. . . intimate parts, light and brief, as accidental as before? The operative word remains to be ‘accidental’. 

Seonghwa doesn’t say a word and Hongjoong pretends he doesn’t catch the hitched breaths that would be inaudible to all but bats if Hongjoong wasn’t this close.

At last the ends of the chains fall apart but any gratitude Seonghwa is about to express dies on his lips. Hongjoong’s relationship with patience is complicated and never is the strain tested any harder than where Seonghwa is concerned. 

The deal was to have their manager pick them up when they finished shopping. Since this was the last store they’d planned to visit, Hongjoong had texted that they were almost done so their ride should be arriving soon, if not already in the parking lot. 

Hongjoong wastes no time. 

He encircles Seonghwa’s waist, other hand snaking to cup Seonghwa’s cock without reserve or pretense. 

“Oh,” Seonghwa gasps loudly, taken aback.

“Feeling something now, hm?” Hongjoong whispers, fingers kneading. 

Seonghwa’s eyes flutter closed momentarily before flicking open, looking like it’s taking effort to keep them that way. “Not enough,” he whispers back, arching into Hongjoong’s touch, the theatre aloofness disintegrating as rapidly as it had come. 

Hongjoong smiles. With a none too gentle squeeze, he asks, “Here?” 

A spasm goes through Seonghwa, lurching him forward. He clutches Hongjoong’s shoulders to steady himself and when he lifts his head, there’s the start of a pout. 

“Your fault,”

“Your boldness,” Hongjoong returns, cheery.

“Still your fault,” Seonghwa mutters and Hongjoong supposes he has a point. Seonghwa had merely been suggestive. Hongjoong had taken the bait. (But Seonghwa should've known, shouldn’t he? Hongjoong’s only line of defense against him includes avoidance and nervous laughter that shields denial and both options have been out of the window for some time now. . .) 

He wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s waist, resting his chin on Seonghwa’s chest. At Seonghwa’s whine at the loss, he presses closer sympathetically, giving pressure to their aligned groins. “Want me to fuck you here, baby?” he asks again, peering into Seonghwa’s already hazy gaze.

“Didn’t-didn’t say that,”

Hongjoong slides a hand down to Seonghwa’s ass and shoves him closer until they appear stapled together in the mirror. He lifts his hips against Seonghwa’s and then drags himself down slowly. It’s a sure and dirty grind that expels any doubt of either of their arousal. 

“Didn’t have to,” he snuggles closer, holding Seonghwa’s squirming hips still. 

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa sounds slightly miserable. 

“So what is it, baby? Yes or no?”

Seonghwa’s mouth opens and closes, a stupified look spreading over his face as Hongjoong grinds on him again. He’s being unfair, he knows, but Seonghwa makes it so easy to dismantle him and each step of the process is Hongjoong’s pleasure.

“You what,” Hongjoong leans up ever so slightly to brush lips. The lightest of kisses, painfully innocent, stupidly fond, glaringly out of place and granting momentary reprieve from lewdity as Hongjoong feels his own eyes cross in the endeavour of staring into Seonghwa’s shining kiss-softened ones. 

When Hongjoong parts his lips to drag his teeth over Seonghwa’s full bottom lip, the moment evaporates. In the mist of it, arousal comes surging back. 

“Something— anything, _please,”_

“Something like this?” Conceding, Hongjoong resumes kneading Seonghwa’s clothed cock. 

Seonghwa’s neck snaps upwards as he leans into Hongjoong’s touch, “More,” 

“Want to ride my thigh?” 

Seonghwa nods so quickly their foreheads bump.

“Sorry,” he says, breathless. 

Hongjoong just chuckles and gives him a loving squeeze. “I like having you like this,” he confesses in a whisper. He moves Seonghwa from the mirror to the wall so they’re visible to themselves. Seonghwa automatically wraps his arms around Hongjoong’s shoulders, mouth falling open as Hongjoong pries a thigh between his own. 

“You‘re so pent up you’d only need skin contact to finish, wouldn’t you?”

Seonghwa nods, apparently already beyond words as his hips bend in quick shallow grinds.

“Maybe we should wait, you don’t seem that desperate.” Hongjoong lowers his leg, ignoring Seonghwa’s whine, “Besides, anyone could catch us here, there’s nothing but a curtain concealing us. Concealing your state. Look how fucked out you already look, sweetheart. Look.” he grabs Seonghwa’s chin and turns him towards the mirror, “I’ve barely touched you.” 

_“Joong,”_ Seonghwa avoids his reflection, a firm rosiness spanning his high cheekbones. 

“Mmh?”

“Don’t talk like that- not here,”

“Or what? Going to spoil your pants, baby?”

Seonghwa bends to shove his face in Hongjoong’s shoulder, the embarrassment rolling off him in waves. 

Hongjoong smiles at Seonghwa’s reflection in the mirror, like he’s about to dole out mercy at last. “Is that a bad thing?” 

Seonghwa contorts at having his words thrown back at him, lifting his head to give Hongjoong his most pleading eyes while looking terribly embarrassed about it. Hongjoong might be a little sick, he can’t say that it doesn’t make him harder, to have Seonghwa at his mercy like this. 

“Come on sweetheart,” he noses at Seonghwa’s chin, pressing light kisses as he murmurs on Seonghwa’s skin, “didn’t you have a lot to say a few minutes ago? Where’s my bold Hwa?” 

Seonghwa sighs deeply and mutters something too quiet for Hongjoong to pick up.

“What’s that?”

“You’ll never see him again,” 

A laugh sputters out of Hongjoong. “Why? He was fun.”

“And I’m not?” He’s so grave, lips in a straight line, brows pulled together, eyes dull, unamused, Hongjoong would pause to reassess the situation if he couldn’t feel Seonghwa trying to steer his thigh higher between his legs again for better stimulation. 

“Oh you’re fun like this too,” he reassures, meaning every word. He reaches for the top button of Seonghwa’s shirt to undo before meeting Seonghwa’s eyes, “Plenty fun, whichever way you give yourself to me,” 

It wasn’t long ago that he couldn’t imagine speaking like this to anyone, let alone Seonghwa whom he has danced around for as long as he possibly could. But nothing feels as right as watching Seonghwa cave to his words like they’ve got a tactile hold on him, nothing feels as gratifying as having Seonghwa moan his name and open his mouth for feverish kisses. 

“Ride baby,” Hongjoong instructs quietly between hungry kisses, “hands on the wall above you, take what you need,” 

“But—”

“Do I have to tie your hands?” 

“No, no I’m sorry I just—”

“Really need it?”

“Yeah,”

“I know,” Hongjoong coos, cupping Seonghwa’s cheeks, “I know. Trust me to give you what you need?”

“Yes, of course,”

“Good boy. Hands up for me,” 

Seonghwa dutifully pins his hands above his head as Hongjoong undoes another button on his shirt and another and another, enough to expose his upper torso. Seonghwa’s hips roll on his thigh, the pretty curve of his waist outlined by his outstretched arms, eyes closed, lips plump with kisses. 

Both hands clutching Seonghwa’s undulating waist, Hongjoong gifts his lips and tongue to the base of Seonghwa’s throat, pressure barely there in his sucking and licking so as to not give their stylists anything to eye tomorrow but detrimental to Seonghwa’s control. 

He goes lower and lower as Seonghwa rides his thigh with increasing abandon, arch so sharp he presses into Hongjoong’s aching cock on the thrust up. Their pace comes to align and Seonghwa clutches Hongjoong’s shoulders as they rock together, pressing as humanly close they can get in this position. Every so often Hongjoong will pause, eliciting soft whines and a quiet pant of _why-why did you stop_ until the message is received from the pointed stare at the hands that rest on him. 

“I’m going to be sore, you know,” Seonghwa whispers as he returns his arms to their former position, crossed at the wrists above his own head. 

“I know,” Hongjoong sneaks under Seonghwa’s shirt, grazing his bare flesh at last, caressing Seonghwa’s sides, his ribs, mapping out where the ache will set by morning, “but you’re going to feel me all day tomorrow and you like it.”

Seonghwa acquiesces with a snort but his body stretches further, as if to increase the strain, as if to increase how prominent the soreness will be, how Hongjoong and this moment will be ingrained deeper into his every move, into each breath he will draw tomorrow and Hongjoong wants to _devour_ him. 

He settles for ghosting over Seonghwa’s nipples and watching him dissolve in sharp whimpers and sighs.

There’s a buzz in Hongjoong’s back pocket, not the first in the past few minutes that he’s stoutly ignored, he’s aware they’re running out of time but to stop now— no, he’s going to at least get Seonghwa off as he promised and if they’re _really_ out of time by then he can get Seonghwa on his knees in the shower later or perhaps when everyone’s gone to bed. 

He starts to work on Seonghwa’s pants then his own. He shimmies down both enough to free their cocks and when Seonghwa shivers hard at the touch, so hot and slick in Hongjoong’s hand, Hongjoong fervently whispers _not yet._ He distracts Seonghwa by parting his undone shirt just enough to fit his head between the lapels and latch onto Seonghwa’s nipple. 

This time Seonghwa buckles hard enough to almost overthrow Hongjoong and Hongjoong knows he is on the brink without him having to repeat it like a mantra. When Seonghwa wraps his arms around Hongjoong to anchor himself, Hongjoong doesn’t give any reprimand and Seonghwa must know it’s okay to let go now. 

Fingers tangle and take root in Hongjoong’s hair, Seonghwa’s lips search for any inch of skin they can find, a cheek, the side of a neck, the tender skin of the earlobe, while his fingers tug and pull at Hongjoong, murmuring his name over and over as he suckles. All he has to do is wrap Seonghwa in a fist again and give one, two strokes before Seonghwa is twining himself around Hongjoong as he comes with a hoarse whisper of Hongjoong’s name on his tongue. 

And Hongjoong, he’s so, _so_ close too, especially as he guides Seonghwa to release on him, as Seonghwa oozes on his cock and Seonghwa’s semen runs down his stiff length. 

Seonghwa doesn’t see yet—he’s too gone, eyes screwed shut, mouth open wide, tongue weighing heavy on his bottom lip and _god_ this sight alone could both arouse and undo Hongjoong at once but instead he desperately holds on as an urge crashes to him. 

When Seonghwa comes down, his entire body goes lax, slumping like a stringless puppet and Hongjoong lets out an amused wheeze.

“Enjoy yourself?”

Breathless and orgasm sedated, “Enjoyed you,” Seonghwa teases back from a veil of disheveled sandy hair.

“Can’t say I had a terrible time,” Hongjoong gives a gentle squeeze to Seonghwa’s thigh still wrapped around him. 

“You love it,” Seonghwa parrots and Hongjoong’s eye roll gets lost in the kiss Seonghwa steals. 

An incessant buzz sounds from his pocket but Seonghwa gets tipsy-like when he’s satiated and he kisses Hongjoong with abandon that is dizzying in its languor, its passion crawls on its knees and brings Hongjoong to its level. Lost in it, the very fact of still being rock hard escapes his mind until Seonghwa reaches to finish him off and Hongjoong deftly catches his wrist. 

“Hwa,” he starts, a little unsure. 

“What is it?” Seonghwa glances down at the wrist Hongjoong holds. It’s followed by a sharp inhale. “Did I— Did I do that?”

Hongjoong nods, squeezing Seonghwa’s wrist, “I wanted you to,”

“And now?” Seonghwa gathers him closer, holding his hips, “What do you want now?”

“You,” Hongjoong tries not to tremble, “on your knees,”. There’s pleasing Seonghwa and being pleased by Seonghwa and one of them he’s yet to conquer. 

“Okay,” 

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa rarely denies him, just as rarely as he denies Seonghwa, but the concession eases the breath he was holding. 

“Yes,” Seonghwa kisses him, “I like you,” he murmurs warmly, bringing a blush to Hongjoong’s cheeks. He sinks to his knees, hands dragging over Hongjoong’s body as he goes. He grasps a thigh in each hand and looks up at Hongjoong as he says, “I like you like this,” 

“Smartass,” Hongjoong huffs once again at having his words boomeranged but the confession makes him tremble a little. At the end of the day there really is no steeling himself for Park Seonghwa. At the end of the day Hongjoong bruises under his tenderness, dents under the weight of his grace, and Hongjoong wouldn’t change a thing. 

“Is it wise?” Seonghwa says contemplatively, “To be so much talk when I’m this—” 

Hongjoong gently nudges himself into Seonghwa’s mouth, effectively silencing him. Seonghwa stays motionless with disbelief, expression frozen in _did you really just shut me up with your dick?_ before it coalesces into a glare but it doesn’t matter by then because he’s intuitively opening his mouth wider and taking Hongjoong deeper. 

And _this,_ this was all Hongjoong had needed. He’d been tethering on the edge the entire time just for this, for the slow push of his cock into Seonghwa’s mouth, plush pink lips parting wider as they accommodate his girth, glossed over with Seonghwa’s own come and forming a glistening halo around his mouth as Hongjoong bottoms out.

Seonghwa’s chin is covered in a mixture of Hongjoong’s precum and spittle and his own come, his mouth a velvet vise that warms and suctions on his cock with enthusiasm even if he doesn’t manage to take him all the way down again. 

Seonghwa is low-lidded and hazy, like he’s still high off his own orgasm but his eyes never close, his gaze never falters, staying keen on Hongjoong’s every last move, every last breath hitch of breath, a servile invigilator of Hongjoong’s pleasure. 

The effect he has on Hongjoong, the indelible vision he makes, _god._ Tremors run up Hongjoong’s thighs and his hips begin to jerk in the telltale of an orgasm, his fingers bunching knuckle-white in Seonghwa’s shirt so he doesn’t grip his hair in two fists and mess it up beyond plausible explanation once they leave but it takes all his strength, _all_ his strength not to fuck Seonghwa’s mouth or groan too loudly or tell Seonghwa how perfect he is, how Hongjoong thinks there is no one as remarkable as him. 

When Seonghwa’s hands glide up Hongjoong’s legs in caress, starting from his ankles up to the apex of his thighs, and pushes himself forward so he is choking on Hongjoong’s cock, Hongjoong can’t even shout a warning, his vision is blinded with white and the room spins.

He braces the wall behind Seonghwa’s head, heaving as his body absorbs the impact of the pleasure ripping through him and despite the short time Seonghwa had him in his mouth, it feels like his orgasm is infinite, waves and waves of pleasure surging and crashing over him. When he opens his eyes Seonghwa is resting against his thigh, arms wrapped around his leg like a plushie. 

Hongjoong’s heart cinches. 

“Baby,” he cards a hand through Seonghwa’s hair, lightly tugging his head up, “you okay?”

Seonghwa smiles. “I’m perfect,” 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong chuckles, “yeah, you are. Come here,”

Once Seonghwa is upright they hastily help each other fix their appearance, Hongjoong buttoning Seonghwa’s shirt, Seonghwa zipping up both their pants.

“You’re so filthy.” 

Hongjoong halts mid finger combing Seonghwa’s disheveled locks, _“You_ swallowed me _and_ you,” 

Now Seonghwa has the gall to blush and pout about it. “You wanted me to,”

“I did,” Hongjoong sighs, giving Seonghwa a once-over to make sure he’s presentable, “I should’ve recorded you, Seonghwa you were so—”

“Why’d you need a recording?” he sounds even whinier and affronted and Hongjoong grins. “I’m right here,” 

“For when we’re apart,” Hongjoong placates with a kiss then uses his sleeve to wipe away whatever glossiness that remains around Seonghwa’s mouth. 

“When you’re cheating on me with your studio you mean,”

“I’ll name the couch after you,”

“Gross.” Seonghwa recoils and shrugs him off, “Never going near it again,” 

“So?” Hongjoong asks, watching Seonghwa’s defenses go up at the nascent cheekiness in his tone, “Are you getting it?”

“Getting what,”

“The belt,”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” 

Hongjoong steps forward, getting in Seonghwa’s space again as he hooks his fingers in Seonghwa’s belt loops, “You knotted it on purpose didn’t you?”

_“What.”_

“Tell the truth, Hwa. It’s too late for me to take away what you really wanted.”

“I did _not_ do that.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I— Joong.” He sounds stressed, “It was an accident!”

Hongjoong puts on dejection, “So you didn’t want this to happen?”

“I did— I mean, it wasn’t the plan? But I- why are you doing this,” 

“Because this,” He strokes the flush in Seonghwa’s cheeks, cups his face like they have all the time in the world, feeling the crushing of fondness right in the centre of his chest and breathing easy in spite of it, “Because I like you like this. Because I like you.” 

“Do you have gum? You are bitter.” He dashes out of Hongjoong’s hold to gather some of the bags he entered with, leaving the rest to Hongjoong. 

“Yah, is that all you have to say?” 

“It’s the last thing I’ll ever say if we don’t get going, come on.” 

But he loops his arm in Hongjoong’s, bags and all, bends down to steal a kiss in the elevator to the car park so quick Hongjoong wonders if it was his imagination and later that night when Seonghwa is tucked in bed and Hongjoong is bleary-eyed in front of huge screens a half an hour drive away, he gets a text, a picture, Seonghwa lying in familiar blue bedding that isn’t his but Hongjoong’s, captioned simply: _come home soon._

**Author's Note:**

> hello lovely people, thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed that~ i wanted to write a wholesome mall date but once i opened the doc my brain turned gremlin mode and i don't really have any regrets :') 
> 
> i have more seongjoong in the works so i hope you can anticipate that. i'm new to atiny city so come, let's be friends and die over these 8 endearing boys together ^__^ 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hwatothestars)


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